


Parole

by Anonymous



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Handcuffs, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27951236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: She was a respectable woman.  Pioneering researcher, a survivor of the dawn of the B.O.W. age—Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S.  She was a role model, her going out for anonymous hookups in bars was risky behavior.  Would be frowned up.Of course, the truth was riskier for both of them.
Relationships: Rebecca Chambers/Billy Coen
Kudos: 11
Collections: Fanfic Anonymous, Mistletoe Exchange 2020





	Parole

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Coffin Liqueur (HP_Lovecats)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HP_Lovecats/gifts).



Her shoulders tensed a little as the handcuffs clicked, trapping her arms behind her back. 

He looped his right arm around her and pulled her in tight, feeling her stiffen against him when she felt his breath against the back of her neck. He leaned in close and nipped, starting from her right earlobe and traveling down, setting her teeth chattering. She started to squirm a little as his hand traveled, from her waist up, running along the soft fabric of her shirt.

Her head fell back, resting against his shoulder as he groped her left breast through the fabric, making adorable little noises. He felt her bound hands, clenching and unclenching as she breathed deeply. Using his left hand, he began to fumble with the fly of her pants—luckily she was distracted or she might be amused at how much trouble he had unbuttoning and unzipping her. Eventually he gave up and switched hands, copping a feel of her right breast and using his right hand to open up her pants.

 _God_ , she was wet.

Then again, clutching her tightly against him, back-to-chest, hip-to-hip, she had to know he was just ads keyed up. 

She whined as he played with her, blindly pushing a finger inside, biting down a little harder on her neck. She shuddered when he pushed a second inside. Shook and almost shuddered out of his arms when he hit _that_ spot, just right. Practice made perfect, apparently.

And then she stiffened back up when he pulled his hand free. Turned her head, looked him out the corner of her eye, desperately.

“Problem, officer?”

“I’m not an… oof!” She started, cut off he lifted her up. Yeah, she stopped being a cop a long time ago. She was still Officer Rebecca Chambers, to him. Maybe it just amused him to call her that, to get that reply. 

“Really? You’re the one who brought the handcuffs.” He said, mock-disapproval in his voice. She was a respectable woman. Pioneering researcher, a survivor of the dawn of the B.O.W. age—Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S. She was a role model, her going out for _anonymous_ hookups in bars was risky behavior. Would be frowned up.

Of course, the truth was riskier for both of them.

He guessed it was good he _died_. Dyed and cut his hair, grew a beard, wore long sleeves for a solid year. Few new scars, a broken nose that was a little off-kilter, a few years and a rough life that made it look like more than a few, and he shaved the beard. Stopped dying to see more grey than he expected.

He’d signed up with a few P.M.C.s—fly-by-night operations that, in the immediate aftermath of Raccoon City, hired a bunch of people crazy enough to want to fight monsters without looking too thoroughly into backgrounds. Men willing to fight B.O.W.s became an in-demand field, stayed in demand as things got bigger, toothier, smarter, whatever. So in demand that a lot of allegedly ex-Umbrella men were allegedly hired by allegedly crooked contractors. What was one more alleged war criminal mixed in with all the others?

First paycheck went to a ton of additions and cover-up work on his tattoo, just in case. He spent a good chunk of his earnings on setting up a convincing fake identity--the easy part was he didn't have to convince anyone he was who he claimed to be, only that he was an ex-Umbrella operative who wanted people to think he was who he said he was. Instead of Billy Coen.

And all that work and effort, and she still fucking recognized him when he tried surreptitiously reintroduce himself. He had a script, something he put in a lot of effort planning, to let her know who he was. And he utterly tripped over it when he saw surprise morph into excitement in her face, and she called him "Billy".

He couldn’t be _that_ annoyed by that, given how thing ended up. A long chat over drinks—well he was drinking at least, about what they were up to and how they were doing, casual chitchat that avoided the subject of B.O.W.s. Which meant he was left doing a lot of drinking while Rebecca did a lot of talking about teaching and research and things that he had no idea about--hadn't set foot in a school in a decade. It was still wonderful getting a chance to catch up with her--she was the last person to know "Billy Coen" before he died, and it felt amazing to be able to be _himself_ around someone else.

That the night ended with her inviting him to her home was a cherry on top.

And so they made it a thing. These random “anonymous” hookups, all planned in advance. Her little whines and panting. Her warm and wet and right against him.

What they had was… complicated? Simple? He couldn’t quite tell—they ran out of trivial bullshit to talk about a long time ago, and neither really had any desire to talk about the serious bits of their life, or the _good old times_ that honestly, both of them probably would want to forget if it hadn’t shaped their lives from Arklay going forward. Both of them were very much loners, as far as he could tell—he had his work, which involved a revolving cast of other mercenaries earning their keep and trying to stay alive, she had other researchers, but as far as he could tell she only ever _really_ opened up to people she new from decades ago, in S.T.A.R.S.

They’d have to broach the subject some time. 

Later.

Right now he had her braced against a wall, one of her legs over his shoulder. She struggled to balance on one foot while he kissed, licked, and nipped at her. A hand snaked under her shirt, squeezing her a little rougher than before—not rough enough that she didn’t like it. Judging by her moans, he figured she was close to…

The inarticulate cry she let out might’ve been “Billy!” as her leg buckled. He managed to hook an arm around her to keep her from falling, carrying her off to her couch, almost tripping over the pair of pants he tossed aside after peeling them off of her, stumbling, and re-gaining his balance before Rebecca managed to regain the wherewithal to notice.

He was a smooth operator.

He sat down, manhandling her until she was straddling him, facing him. Rose up on her knees a little as he lined himself up. He gripped her hips and looked up at her, biting her lower lip before making eye contact with him and smiling.

And then she dropped down.

She wriggled and ground down a little as he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as she got all the way down. She leaned in close and nipped at his ear, then shifted and lifted herself up again. He dug his hands into her sides and braced his feet against the floor as she bounced up and down on his cock, whining and moaning. God she was tight. 

She rode him fast and hard.

His hands left her hips, clawing at her back as he leaned in, pressing her against him. She tried to keep a steady rhythm as he tried to hold her tight. As best she could she tried to lean forward and back, angling herself to try to get every little bit more of him in her. He ground his teeth and groaned as he felt ready to explode.

And then she stopped.

It was only for a second after she’d been going full bore, stopped all the way down. She was breathless, he was breathless. The pause lasted only long enough for him to look up at her, a little gleam in her eye. “Problem?”

And then she started up again.

He came pretty quick right after, collapsing back into the couch, her going limp on top of him as he filled her. Boneless, light headed, and out of breath, he stared at a spot in her ceiling for way too long; her half-falling, half-lifitng herself off him to sprawl out on the couch drew his attention back to her.

She looked giddy.

He leaned forward, running a hand long her side, looking at handprints and scratches he had given her as she turned over, keeping her thighs together. It was a little tricky for her to do, hands cuffed behind her back. Shifting a little, he smiled wickedly and stood up.

When he returned with a glass of water, but no keys for her cuffs, Rebecca looked a little confused. He took a sip, then held the glass up to her, right under her lips. “The keys are…”

“Night’s still young, _Officer_.” Billy said, tilting the glass towards her. She leaned forward, taking a sip. “So, I think you and I can still handle a round two, right?

She said nothing, but the gleam in her eye as she drank told him all he needed to know. Hm... what to do do pass the time until he was ready to go again?

He didn't bother to uncuff her to get that shirt off her--just a quick ask if it was expensive, and then he ripped it, exposing her breasts. The little squeak of "Hey!" was annoyed, but not mad. He continued to tear the fabric up to get it properly off of her, pausing as he tore up the right sleeve. The top of her arm, right near the shoulder had some work on it, a small, black tribal design--a band, rather than a full sleeve. Something that in proper, professional clothing, nobody would know about. That was new.

She shrugged when she noticed him staring. "You have one, too".

He shrugged, running the pads of his fingertips across the black band. Yeah, but he was a dumb kid who got it to fit in with his squadmates when he was just enlisted. Getting portions of it removed, then more ink added on to break up the pattern, make it no longer Billy Coen's tattoo, was odd. "Glad to see I'm a good influence on you, doll."

He put his hands on her thighs and began to pry them apart, before she crossed her legs at the ankles. Her eyes gleanmed a little, smirking a bit. He hadn't expected her to play difficult with her hands tied behind her back--she liked wrestling around a bit, despite giving up quite a bit of muscle mass, but this was even less fair than usual. She shifted, and rocked as he tried to manhandle her around; giving up on pulling her legs apart and settling for wrestling her across her lap as he sat on the couch. Keeping her pinned down was a little bit of a challenge. A fun. In the end they spilled onto the floor, Rebecca buried against a dislodged couch cushion, him kneeling next to her.

She yelped into that cushion when he brought his hand down against her right buttock. A few more times as she tried to flex and scramble away. Then he stopped. That calmed her down a bit, and he took the opportunity to siddle behind her, fingers finding her slit again. He wasn't teasing, going slow, he was trying to provoke as much of a reaction as he could. He kept at it until she whined and mumbled and he found _that spot_ he'd taken note of the first night they'd spend together, and he kept at it until he teeth chattered and her eyes screwed shut and she screamed.

He didn't stop fingering her, though. He kept stroking and feeling her as she whined and cried; as he leaned in and kissed her, running up from that little black band on her arm up her shoulder to her neck. Kept at it until she was pretty much just a panting, shuddering puddle. He only stopped when, while shifting her around, he realized he was rock hard again. Time flew.

He wasn't sure she was even aware he left when he got up, walked over to a pile of clothes on the floot, walked back, uncuffed her hands, and rolled her onto her back. She didn't put up a fight when he pried her open again, limp, hair pasted to her head with sweat, chest heaving. She definitely knew when he pushed inside, though.

Night was still young, indeed.


End file.
